Eloquence and Espionage (13 page)

The change in him was minute, she’d give him
that. His head raised just the slightest, and his fingers tightened
on the blotter. “Thank you, Miss Courdebas. That was . . .
enlightening. I only wish more of my staff were as observant.”

Was it her imagination or did Sinclair sink
a bit in his chair? Perhaps it was merely that she had risen with
the praise.

“Then you will approve my request to join
your group?” she asked.

“I shall take it under advisement,” he
promised. “Normally I extend the invitation after watching the
fellow for a time, as I did with Lord Hawksbury. He has proven
particularly adept.”

Until recently. He didn’t say the words, but
they seemed to hang in the air nonetheless. Had she somehow given
them the impression that Sinclair had been lax in his duty?

“His determination to catch this miscreant
is no doubt one of the reasons I wish to assist,” Ariadne assured
the spy master. “Indeed, if he had not been after the spy at that
very moment I would have had no opportunity to observe the
creature. Lord Hawksbury has given no thought to his own needs,
risked personal injury, and threatened his relationship to his
peers and family to pursue your ends. You could look for no finer
emissary.”

Sinclair was definitely lower than when
she’d first seated herself. Now what had she done?

Lord Hastings held up a hand. “No need to
enumerate his finer points. I am well aware of Lord Hawksbury’s
considerable skills. Thank you for delivering the message
personally, Miss Courdebas. I’m afraid I have another appointment
waiting. My associate will see you out.”

She knew dismissal when she heard it. She
rose, and they all stood with her.

“My lord,” she said, dipping a curtsey.

“Miss Courdebas,” he acknowledged with a
nod. “You are a clever girl. I’m certain I have no need to remind
you that what you have seen and heard must remain private.”

Ariadne cocked her head. “Have we even been
properly introduced, sir?”

Lord Hastings chuckled. “Perhaps not, but
you can be sure we will meet again.”

Ariadne sighed. “No, no, we cannot meet
again if we have never met. A better return would have been ‘I look
forward to that introduction, madam.’”

Lord Hastings frowned, but Sinclair took her
arm. “Thank you for your time, my lord. Allow me to escort you
home, Miss Courdebas.”

She sighed again as he led her out the door.
“Forgive me. I simply couldn’t allow poor dialogue to ruin the
moment.”

“Lord Hastings is not a character in a
play,” Sinclair said, walking so fast down the short corridor she
had to scurry to keep up. “And neither am I. You cannot put words
in our mouths or dictate our actions.”

“I’m sure I never . . .” she started.

He drew up short as they reached the door.
“Of course you do. You seem to find this all a game. I assure you,
madam, it is far more serious.”

“Well, certainly it is! I am not dim, sir,
nor am I a child. We are at war with France. People are dying.”

“People?” He grabbed her arm and drew her
out of the way of the door. His face was dark, his eyes haunted.
“My friends are dying. John Warren, Peter Makepiece, Winston
Wallingford. All of whom should be here this Season, beguiling the
ladies, boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s. They should have married and
had children and grown old and fat and put up their feet at
White’s. Instead, they died protecting our nation. I will not add
to their number.”

For a moment, she was ready to protest that
she had no intention of growing fat and that she would never be
allowed to so much as enter White’s, much less put up her feet
there. But for once the import of his words came through the poor
imagery.

“You are concerned about my safety,” she
realized.

He rubbed his brow as if wearied. “Of course
I am concerned for your safety. Did last night teach you nothing?
He might have harmed you. He might have killed you. I wish you
would take the matter seriously, Ariadne, for it quite chills my
blood.”

“Lord Hawksbury.” At Lord Hastings’s call,
Sinclair stiffened. As he turned, Ariadne saw the spy master
ambling closer.

Sinclair put on a smile as if he were
greeting the fellow after weeks away instead of only a few minutes.
“My lord, how good to see you again.”

Lord Hastings’ brown eyes twinkled as he
came to stop in front of them. “Will you make me known to your
lovely companion?”

She thought Sinclair was clenching his
teeth, the words came out so tight. “Miss Ariadne Courdebas, may I
present Harold Petersborough, Marquis of Hastings.”

Ariadne curtsied. “Lord Hastings.”

He bowed. “Miss Courdebas, a pleasure. I
understand congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a sidelong
glance to Sinclair. His smile was tepid at best, but she thought
perhaps he was attempting to look suitably besotted.

“Excellent.” He clapped Sinclair on the
shoulder. “I have known this one since he was in leading strings.
As such, I wonder if I might ask a favor.”

Was he going to accept her after all?
“Anything, my lord,” Ariadne assured him.

“Bear in mind that Miss Courdebas is busy on
her first Season,” Sinclair cautioned with a look her way. “Her
mother is rather protective of her time.”

As was he. That much was clear by the way he
put an arm about her waist. She would have found the gesture wildly
romantic under other circumstances.

“I can imagine,” Lord Hastings told him.
“That is why I thought of her for this very assignment.”

Assignment? Then she was being tried for the
position! Ariadne beamed, then remembered she should only look
interested and tempered her smile.

“I understand,” Lord Hastings continued,
“that an old friend of mine may make an appearance at Almack’s next
Wednesday. He’s no doubt changed with time, but I believe you saw
him recently, Miss Courdebas. I was hoping you might help
reintroduce me to him.”

He wanted her to identify the spy. Her heart
leaped, only to come crashing down. She lowered her gaze. “I
regret, my lord, that I have not been given vouchers to Almack’s.”
Then she glanced up at him, hope sparking. “Perhaps you could see a
way toward changing that.”

His look turned sad. “If you wish to
converse with the Prince Regent or send word to Wellington in
France, I’m your man. But I’m afraid vouchers to Almack’s are
beyond my reach. I suggest you endeavor to find a way to secure
them yourself by next Wednesday.”

“Doomed,” Ariadne intoned as Sinclair sat
across from her in his carriage. “My plans for being an
intelligence agent, my dreams of a Season, gone! Oh, a pox on those
patronesses!”

Sinclair wasn’t sure whether to sympathize
or thank God. He knew all too well the heady feeling of being
chosen to join Lord Hastings’s cadre, of thinking himself of use at
last. He hated to deny her that joy. But the idea of watching her
put herself in harm’s way knotted his stomach.

That’s why he’d lashed out at her in
Whitehall. She seemed to see the world as if everyone was an actor
on a stage. The world, he knew to his sorrow, was far more
unpredictable. Look at how so many of his friends were already
gone. Look at how his mother had died so young of the influenza.
Look at how his father had declined, the way he’d lashed out at
Sinclair’s grandparents. If Ariadne joined the cadre and was hurt,
he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He didn’t want to lose
her too.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said. “You
have enough on your hands with the Season and your literary
hopes.”

She shook her head, and a bit of the veil,
which was still on top of her hat, slipped down over her forehead.
“Our engagement has made the Season moot in any event. Mother won’t
push me to find a husband when she thinks I already have one. And
I’ve already told the publisher the second volume will be
late.”

He had thought she only had hopes of
publishing one day. He should have known she’d already accomplished
it. He’d heard tales of some popular novels written “by a lady.”
Was he looking at the author of
Pride and Prejudice
?

“The publisher?” he said with feigned
nonchalance. “Then you are writing one of your romantic
novels.”

She blanched. “No, I, well, not
exactly.”

Good Lord, what was she writing? Something
told him he would not like the answer to his question. He couldn’t
stop himself nonetheless. “Ariadne, you must know that the exploits
of Lord Hastings and his men are not for public consumption.”

She beamed. “Excellent turn of phrase.”

Why did he feel like preening? “Glad you
approve. But I want your word that you will not write about what
you know of Lord Hastings or his cadre.”

She raised her hand. “I solemnly swear. May
my last quill snap in two if I so much as consider writing about
any of this.” She lowered her hand with a giggle. “Though it would
make a marvelous story.”

Just what he’d feared. “This isn’t a story!
You cannot dictate the outcome.”

Her smile faded. “And am unlikely to even
participate in it at this rate. Oh, I wish I knew a way to get my
hands on a voucher!”

It was obvious the matter concerned her, and
for more reason than that she hoped to identify this French spy to
him and Lord Hastings. He understood a little why. His friend
Wallingford’s sister had once been denied vouchers, and the poor
girl and her mother had gone into a decline.

“No chance of a decent marriage now,” Wally
had confided in Sinclair. “Some of the high sticklers won’t even
receive her.”

Ariadne wouldn’t have that problem so long
as people thought her engaged to Sinclair, but once their false
betrothal was ended, she could well struggle to remain a viable
part of high society if she wasn’t allowed into Almack’s.

“Perhaps simply request a voucher?” he
suggested.

She eyed him. “You have clearly never been
initiated in the ways of Almack’s, sir. My mother submitted a
request for herself and her daughters before we ever reached
London. Besides, a lady patroness does not grant vouchers to anyone
who she has not called on personally.”

“So invite one to call,” he said, wondering
why the matter had to be so difficult. It wasn’t as if she were
trying to smuggle secrets to Wellington behind enemy lines.

“The Countess Lieven has already called,”
she informed him. “And questioned Daphne and me at great length.
Vouchers arrived shortly after. For my mother and Daphne.”

Oh. Well, that did make the matter trickier.
“Perhaps she thought you were too young.”

“Of Daphne and I, which of us appears the
most mature?” she challenged.

Her, certainly. Her sister was far too
exuberant, likely to fly off on odd tangents. Yet somehow he felt
any answer would disappoint Ariadne.

“So, what will you do?” he asked.

She twitched her mouth back and forth, the
movement drawing his attention to her lips. They were the prettiest
shade of pink, and he knew from experience that they felt softer
than her cheek. He had to force his gaze to meet hers.

“I fear I must appeal to an expert on such
matters,” she said with great resolution.

“Your mother,” he guessed.

Now she wrinkled her nose. “Certainly not.
My mother may be well respected in Society, but sometimes I think
she has no idea how things are really done. No, I need someone of
sophistication, of undeniable cunning. Take me to Priscilla.”

*

Ariadne was not surprised to learn Priscilla
was not at home. It was the Season after all. They managed to track
her down on Bond Street, coming out of a haberdashery on the arm of
her betrothed, Nathan Kent.

“Lord Hawksbury,” he greeted, remarkably
fine gray eyes shining through his spectacles. “Miss Courdebas.
What a pleasure.”

Priscilla’s curtsey was designed to honor a
monarch and display her considerable curves to advantage in the
frilly muslin gown. She was the one person Ariadne knew who
actually made white muslin look good.

“My lord,” Priscilla said, fluttering golden
lashes. She was fawning from habit. Priscilla was engaged, and so,
for all Nathan knew, was Ariadne, to Sinclair.

Sinclair inclined his head in greeting to
both of them, then looked to Ariadne to share their purpose. Should
she broach the subject with Nathan watching? Like Sinclair,
Priscilla’s betrothed was an upstanding young man. Ariadne wasn’t
sure how he’d take Priscilla’s stragems in this instance.

Priscilla seemed to sense a problem, for she
linked arms with Ariadne. “Walk with us,” she said. “I’m sure
Nathan and Lord Hawksbury will find something fascinating to
discuss.” Her look back to Nathan was pointed.

Nathan chuckled. “I know when we’re not
wanted, Hawksbury. Come with me to Ackermann’s. They have some
excellent caricatures on display, guaranteed to amuse.”

Sinclair’s gaze remained on Ariadne, so she
gave him a quick nod. He turned and left with Nathan.

Priscilla led her along the row of shops,
where everything from multitiered wedding cakes to bright bolts of
satin were on display. “Quickly,” Priscilla said. “They won’t be
able to leave us alone along. What do you need?”

“Vouchers,” Ariadne answered, twitching
aside her walking dress from a puddle on the pavement. “By next
Wednesday.”

Priscilla tapped one finger to her perfectly
shaped lips. “Not enough time to blackmail a patroness, and I
suppose putting an acquaintance in a compromising position is also
out of the question.” She cast Ariadne a look, green eyes tilted up
like a cat’s.

Ariadne shook her head. “I fear so.”

“Hmm.” She stopped in front of a shop where
feathered hats sat on plump velvet pillows like pampered parrots.
“Then you’ll simply have to do something to impress them.”